


paper boat

by Zephine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mental Health Issues, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephine/pseuds/Zephine
Summary: Bossuet got kicked out of university, drank too much, and upset his girlfriend. So far the day has been great.
Relationships: Joly & Bossuet Laigle, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	paper boat

"You got kicked out of university?"

Bossuet nods with a shrug and takes the just-opened beer from Grantaire's hand. His jacket is still soaking wet from the rain and his shoes leave muddy marks on the laminate. It won't bother anyone - sooner or later they will disappear anyway under the ocean of empty PET-bottles that decorate almost the entire flat. He kicks a few aside before dropping on the couch next to Bahorel.

"So like, really? You're out?"

He takes a few seconds before answering and looks around at the group. Marius looks at him out of wide-open eyes; Courfeyrac, holding two bottles together to open, freezes in motion. A sound comes from Grantaire's throat that sounds both dismayed and amused. There's a funny thing about it, he thinks with a grin, and takes a sip.

"Well not officially yet, but... Yes, I'm out. Totally."

"For real now?"

"Wow. Shit."

"How did you even do that?" asks Courfeyrac, handing Grantaire beside him a bottle. "The exam wasn't that hard. Even Bahorel passed! And I didn't see him in any lectures."  
Bahorel nods.

"Yeah, that was a stupid affair," Bossuet sighs with a grin and lets his head fall back on the back of the sofa in a theatrical gesture. "I already blew the first try because I overslept and missed the bus and - you know the story. And this time I really wanted to be on time, got to the campus an extra hour early and lo-and-behold: the date was yesterday!"

The last words flow into a burst of snorting laughter.

"no way!"

"And you think that's funny?" Marius has consternation literally written on his face  
"Absolutely! Especially because I've always said it before: if I flunk this, my whole degree is screwed."

"Surely there's something you can do about it. Third attempt, hardship case, .... something like that. You jurists have that, don't you?" 

Bossuet doesn't miss the slight twitch at the corner of Grantaire's mouth, no matter how hard he tries to hide it behind an encouraging expression. Bossuet doesn't blame him though, because to be honest, he doesn't really mind mucus. After all, isn't it really hilarious? Just his most important exam, where he had rechecked the next day's bus timetable, the valves on his bike tyres, and (just in case!) the subject of the exam several hundred times!

"I don't think that' s going to work out," he retorts. "The professor in charge isn't too fond of me after the ketchup thing..."

"Right! Oh man, were they pissed off back then..."

"And what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. Something."

He really doesn't know. But he never really knew either. Even back when Bahorel had tried to convince him to study the law with him, he had applied for it rather as a joke and had been honestly surprised to actually be accepted. When Bossuet thinks of his future, he has always, since childhood, seen the same picture: a huge, blackish nothingness.  
It's not that it bothers him, quite the opposite. He has never understood the big circus about careers and life planning. Why not just live into the day and see what happens? _You're a paper boat on a river as big as the ocean _, Jehan once said to him when the evening was late and his vision no longer perfectly clear. But he remembered it. Maybe there is something to it.  
As if to make a point, he laughs a little louder.__

____

"Man, Boss, now that's some news..."

____

"I'm happy for you!" Bahorel beside him suddenly shouts. At least he seems equally uncomfortable with the dismayed sadness in his friends' expressions. " Happy indeed! I even envy you. No more endless lectures, no more books weighing tons, no more stress... And all those desperate students in the library! I hate to go there, don't you?"

____

" You have a point!" joins in Courfeyrac.

____

"Don't understand why you put yourselves through such a sucky boring study anyway".

____

Grantaire takes another sip from the bottle before holding it out invitingly to the group for a toast. He is the only one of them who is not studying law. Actually, they were supposed to meet today to celebrate the last exam of this semester - well, actually they had already arranged to meet a fortnight ago if Bossuet had shown up for the exam - but since it has been pouring all afternoon, Grantaire has made his flat available. Bahorel had the idea to ask him: _If we bring a crate, he'll let us in. ___

______ _ _

"And how do Joly and Chetta feel about it?"

______ _ _

Marius is the only one still who hasn't really finished with the subject, or at least the only one who still shows it openly. It's not that he's much more eager in his studies than the others. Especially in the time before he got together with Cosette, he preferred to spend his time staring at nothing for hours and interpreting meaningless chat sequences rather than even doing anything for university. Bossuet remembers it well - Courfeyrac almost went crazy back then.  
Probably, he thinks, it has to do with the fact that independence from his family is so important to him. He still vividly remembers the argument with his grandfather back then, in which he finally got away with three part-time jobs and half a room at Courtfeyrac. Maybe Bossuet should really try to stand on his own two feet for once. Or maybe it's not such a bad idea to accept help.

______ _ _

He bumps his bottle against Grantaire's, a clanging sound emerging.

______ _ _

"They don't know anything."

______ _ _

Maybe it's all for the best, he thinks. Joly is in exam stress himself at the moment, so any bit of extra commotion is to be avoided. Like every year, he and Combeferre brood over their books for weeks. According to Courfeyrac, Enjolras has had to remind his flatmate a time or two to eat or persuade him in the middle of the night that ten hours of continuous study is quite enough for one day. Thinking about it, Bossuet is actually surprised that Joly hasn't drifted off like that so far - into the medical madness, as Courfeyrac calls it.  
But perhaps he simply hasn't paid closer attention, after all, he himself was up to his ears in exams until recently. Or maybe it has something to do with Musichetta and her recent self-care trip. With the number of kale smoothies and chill-out music, it's almost hard not to eat healthily and keep a regular sleep schedule.  
Bossuet smiles. It's kind of touching how Chetta always takes care of everyone. Everything seems to get better somehow since she moved in with them. And Joly appears to change as well. Didn't he even go jogging early in the morning the other day?

______ _ _

" Jeez, Pontmercy, now let Boss do what he thinks is right". 

______ _ _

Bahorel finishes his beer in one go and sets it noisily on the table in front of him.

______ _ _

"Since the cause of the party is now over anyway:" he continues as he opens a second one, "Should I ask if the others would like to come over? Feuilly's only working for another two hours or so I think, and I'm sure some of them need a distraction from their studies."

______ _ _

______ _ _

***

______ _ _

______ _ _

The mirror in Grantaire's tiny bathroom is small and boxy and looks like it hasn't been cleaned in several months. Bossuet looks alternately into both eyes, which show a strange mixture of grey-green around the pupils, and tries to gauge how drunk he already is. Someone is playing music in the living room, he can hear it muffled through the thin walls, and a few people have gone out to get another crate of beer and something to eat. By now it's dark outside, but the rain continues to patter incessantly against the windowpanes. How long has he been here?

______ _ _

When he thinks about it, the results of the day are actually quite good. He has completely ruined his life within a few hours - or maybe not ruin it, turn it around, that sounds more optimistic! And now he hears his friends joking in the next room, the conversations are getting louder and the sea of deposit bottles is probably getting more overflowing after this evening. Not bad. He sees his image grinning in the mirror.

______ _ _

Of course, Bossuet doesn't want to stand here all evening. He decides he can definitely still pass for 'tipsy' and leaves it at that. Unable to find a clean towel (Grantaire's flat would probably merit at most one measly star as a hotel), he clumsily wipes his hands on his just-drying jacket.

______ _ _

He is almost surprised to run his left hand over the contours of his mobile phone, for he has almost forgotten that it was there. This thought alone moves him to take a look at it. The display, shattered into a thousand pieces, takes a little while to recognise the movement of his wet fingers, but finally, it responds.

______ _ _

_7 missed calls  
23 new messages. ___

________ _ _ _ _

The first thought that comes to his mind is not that something is wrong, it is the question of what could be broken about his mobile phone now again that he misses seven calls. He will blame himself for that thought the next day, just like for the fact that he didn't look at his phone the whole time or that he went to Grantaire's that night in the first place. For now, though, he just furrows his brows and stares at the messages in front of him.

________ _ _ _ _

_\- Musichetta -_

_________ _ _ _ _ _

missed call (19:34)

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_19:35 Call me back please, okay?  
19:35 Boss?  
19:36 Call me back when you can.  
19:44 it's important  
19:49 really important.  
19:50 !!!_

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

missed call (19:55)  
missed call (19:56)

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_20:02 Damn Bossuet, I'm serious.  
20:14 when will you be home?  
20:26 I mean it really can't be THAT exciting at your place... where is that anyway?  
20:28 nobody doesn't look at their phone for that long!  
20:28 where are you?? ___

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

missed call (20:49)

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_20:49 *this message has been deleted* _  
_20:50 *this message has been deleted* _____

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

missed call (21:12)

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_21:12 Just come home then, yeah? ___

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Come home. That's what he has to do. Bossuet puts his phone back in his jacket pocket and throws some cold water on his face with his hands before heading out.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

***

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Grantaire's bathroom is fortunately close to the front door and far enough away from the living room that he can get out without being noticed. In less than three steps he is out the door and in the stairwell. He can't have left anything there, because he didn't come with anything, and since some Amis have joined them meanwhile, his absence is probably not immediately noticeable. Of course, it's not exactly polite to the others to just leave without saying goodbye. But what should he answer when they ask him why he is leaving already? A forgotten deadline or studying for an exam are no longer plausible excuses. And the truth? If it were something really disturbing, Chetta would have written to everyone and not just to him. No, Bossuet senses that it is something personal. And he already suspects what it is.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Hey, hey, hey!"

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Shit.  
Feuilly's hair is wet from the rain and he's panting as if he ran through it, but maybe that's just fatigue talking. Dark circles are painted under his eyes. He seems to have been up for a long time.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Ah, Feuilly."

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He responds a little belatedly. Until just now he hadn't known that it was so difficult for him to speak and that his throat felt constricted. He tries not to let it show.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I didn't think you'd come," he adds hastily, clutching his trembling hands in the banister.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I was busy until just now. And you're leaving already? Are you okay? It's only half-past nine or something."

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Yeah, I forgot something important at home... um, tell me, can I borrow your car?"

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Feuilly eyes him incredulously, as if sizing up his driving ability. "I came by bike," he finally replies.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Can I borrow that?"

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Have you looked out of the window? It's pouring like hell!"

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bossuet shrugs his shoulders. Then he'll take the bus. Given that it's running at the moment, that would be the quickest option, anyway.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I have to go then" he mumbles and pushes past Feuilly down the stairs. He hears him say _you've had a few too many, haven't you? _behind him and isn't sure if that was directed at him, but by then he is at the bottom of the stairs.__

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Before heading out into the pouring rain, he dials Musichetta's number.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

***

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

As he stoops to pick up the bunch of keys off the floor, he tastes the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He should have kicked the mud off his shoes or taken each step of the stairs one at a time. Thus they took on uneasy independence. He probably didn't knock out a tooth, just cracked his lower lip a little. And he didn't break his neck either. One must think of the positive!  
Still, he is a bit dazed. It takes him a while to find the right key and hit the keyhole with it. Before he can even put his hand on the handle, the door is opened from the inside.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"There you are."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Despite the insistent request to come home; Musichetta doesn't look like she's particularly happy to see him. Her lips are pressed together to a thin line and she doesn't dignify the blood running down Bossuet's chin with a comment either.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Hey." he says, trying an apologetic smile as he runs the back of his hand over his lower lip.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You're wet."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"It's raining."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

This conversation is going nowhere. Bossuet pushes past her into the corridor with a lack of elegance and takes off his jacket and shoes. Musichetta is not really angry, he thinks. That would look different. She's just worried and doesn't know what to do.  
He knows that, he is familiar with the feeling.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Where is he?"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"In the kitchen."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He hangs his jacket, still dripping wet from the rain, on the coat rack and is about to push past her when she grabs his arm.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"'Pulmonary thromboembolism'" she murmurs to him. Her voice sounds bitter. Her lips have twisted into what could be a smile but isn't.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Joly looks up as Bossuet enters the kitchen and smiles. He looks okay, at least to some extent. In his hand he holds a green crayon and in front of him on the table is a cup with the soggy label of a teabag hanging out of it. He smiles, but his eyes are still red and his cheeks look sunken.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Joly!"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bossuet tries to take a seat beside him as calmly as possible. Musichetta has disappeared into some room, or perhaps she is still standing in the corridor, not knowing where to go.  
Joly's friendly expression dies the second he looks at him. It's a comic transformation to a shock-filled expression that happens within a few milliseconds. Bossuet would laugh if he could.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What happened to you?"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh nothing, just fell on the stairs a minute ago. It's nothing."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He intends to make a casual hand gesture, but it ends in a nervous flailing.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What are you doing there?" he tries to change the subject. Now, let's not give any cause for concern. Fortunately, Joly readily responds.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Sudoku." he replies, the corners of his mouth pulling up again. "It's a very good relaxation and brain workout and extremely grounding too!"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bossuet raises an eyebrow in amusement, and then they both need to laugh. It's nice to see Joly laugh, especially because he notices that it's not fake at all. Even if the still puffy eyes suggest otherwise.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No," he continues, "I don't really enjoy doing that kind of shit. But Chetta took my phone away and forbade me to study, and that was the first best thing to keep me busy."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Sounds..... authoritarian."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh, come on, she was really sweet. She made me this tea here too!" Demonstratively, he takes a sip from the cup. "Croatian lemon mint."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He grins, but the grin lasts a moment too long. Bossuet looks into his eyes for a while, searching for something in them, but he can't find anything to make sense of, so he finally asks

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Joly, what happened?"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Joly sets the teacup back down on the table but continues to hold it in his hands. His grin diminishes, barely noticeable.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh, I just.... went crazy."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He's probably trying to make it sound like a joke, but it doesn't. Bossuet sighs.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"But why? I thought you said you had this under control by now."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I did." Joly's voice sounds a touch too shrill, and water gathers in his eyes again. "I really did! But for the last few days it's been back, like, all the time, with everything I do - and I've been trying to ignore it or tell myself it was just normal, but earlier I couldn't because I really felt something was wrong! You think you can't make something like that up or imagine it or something and... and then when it happens you don't think about it at all, you can't think at all. And I felt something, I'm sure of it-I couldn't breathe or see clearly or think clearly at all and my heart was beating way too fast and I really thought I was dying, I really did..."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His last words break down into sobs.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It is a sad sight - he is a sad sight - and Bossuet's heart almost breaks again. He gets up to put his arms around him, for there is not much more he can do at the moment. It's been almost two years since the last time, and they all had hoped that it was somehow finally over, but that had probably been illusory ideas. And, if he was to be completely honest; lately he had almost forgotten about it. Maybe that had been a mistake.  
Or maybe it had been a blessing. Every day that Joly is doing fine should be a good day. Every day without anxiety, without panic attacks, without never-ending medical appointments and obscure self-diagnoses. Why spoil the good days with pointless ruminations?

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

But maybe Bossuet is just as clueless as everyone else.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I know." he says, then.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Joly's face is flushed as he looks up at him. His voice is still broken.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I don't want it to be back."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Neither do I."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, Bossuet can feel Joly's heartbeat. It's fast, but it seems to him that it's starting to calm down. That's good. Because it can't give him ideas again.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A few years ago, when the anxiety was at its worst, hardly a day went by when Joly didn't have to constantly check his blood pressure or scan his skin for any tiny changes, when he could eat or sleep or go to university normally.  
The eternal discussions and internet researches; cyberchondria, the vicious circle of anxiety, the pros and cons of going to the doctor, the pros and cons of therapies - all that shit seems so eternally far away to Bossuet. And now it's all supposed to start all over again?  
He doesn't know if they'll be able to get through it all again. But he fervently hopes so.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"And I'm sorry I wasn't there. That was idiotic of me." he whispers.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh, no!"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Joly breaks free of the embrace and runs the back of his hand over both eyes. He seems less distraught, his voice has recovered and his posture is straighter too.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No, don't blame yourself, Boss." His tone, when you put it that way, is almost annoyed. "It's not like you could have known. And even if you did - you have your life, which, by the way, is hard enough. You don't have to look out for me or anything. That's what I told Chetta, by the way. Gee, was she mad at you."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bossuet smiles. That's probably true.

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Speaking of which, your Croatian lemon is getting cold."

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Lemon mint," corrects Joly, suddenly cheerful again. "Where were you, anyway?"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"At Grantaire's. We wanted to meet because of the last exam, remember? Well, Grantaire didn't, but-"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh yes, your exam." Joly cuts him off. "Shit, I'd totally forgotten about that...  
How did it go?"

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
